


The Beauty of Samhain

by Deiwimin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Actual Violence, Blood, Blut Blut Blut, Cannibalism, Daddy Issues, Death, Did I Mention It's October?, Down The Fucking Basement We Go Once More, Forced Handjob, Halloween, In Fact-Unreliable Narration, M/M, Modern AU, Mutilation, Probably Snuff, RIP My Trustworthyness, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Roose Only Makes A Cameo, Satan Bless Thramsay, Sexiest Time Of The Year, Sexual Situations, Theon Knocks On The Wrong Door, Threats of Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-21 00:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiwimin/pseuds/Deiwimin
Summary: Knocks on the door are a nuisance. Especially on Halloween night...





	The Beauty of Samhain

**Author's Note:**

> To the blest, or more likely; unholy entities who hit on, and kudo my trash: Will you marry me?
> 
> And on a different note, here's a Halloween fic. A classic concept, as it is a oneshot basement fic!  
(Plenty of those waiting in the depths of my files)

Ramsay unhooked the handle impatiently. He knew little shits were bound to knock tonight, but for the sake of ennui he opened. Hoped to scare them a bit. Instead he saw _him_, with his dark hair and dandy looking eyes. Asking if he had seen Rickon? Who the fuck was that? Sounded familiar. Aaaah a Stark kid. "Yeah, his siblings and I came out to babysit the little ones for trick or treating. If you've seen him-" The idiot trailed off as he watched Ramsay, who widened the door and gestured for him to come inside. __

_ __ _

"Uh..." 

"Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton. Step in, I can't hear a thing from the little bastards outside, squealing like pigs in the slaughterhouse." Theon came closer; smirking at the description in agreement, overstepping the entrance to be clearly heard. He introduced himself with an almost arrogant, smug tone. Ramsay realised he didn't quite like that about the man. Maybe he could humble him a bit tonight. The fakeness was so unbecoming. His father was away for the day so it should be a fine _yes _, no? __

_ _

_ _ "Would you like some coffee? We don't usually have visitors in the house, so I don't have much." _ _

_ __ _

"No man, listen. I just want to find this kid. Have you seen him anywh-" seems that Theon caught something in the corner of his eye. A head of ginger. With some older kids, and a wheelchaired child. Probably the Starks, but too late for the poor little lamb, because Ramsay already closed the door behind them, and proceeded to screw the lock up. The now nervous Theon looked back, and then returned his sight to the fleshy man standing in front of him in near panic. He hadn't; yet, trying to comprehend what was happening to his night. 

"See, he's with his brother already. Don't worry about them. I haven't had a visit in the past month, and it's the thirty first. Won't you humour me?" Now in any normal circumstance Theon would've considered staying for ten minutes, but something in that twinkling stare warned his instincts to sprint the seven hells out and never think back to it. Besides, who locks the door when there's visitors? Only fucking serial killers. Oh fuck. What if he was a serial killer, he sure had the looks for it, the creepy ass stare, the face not even a blind mother could love, the greasy hair, in fact now that he notices, it seemed there may have been a taped window upstairs. Maybe it was for Halloween? But there were no other decorations. 

"Thanks man, I don't have m-much time though, so I've got to scram." Theon tried to step back and turn to the exit, but Ramsay got to it first. Ramsay could see the unnerved expression on his face, as well as Theon's body language, all caved in and expecting danger. Which wasn't wrong of him really. It was very cute, in fact. Finally, some appropriate behaviour. He tried to smile down at Theon nicely; though it only seemed to only distress him more. "P-plea w-ha...I would like to leave please." He was trying to reason. Endearing.

"Sh-shhh. Chill dude, I'm just asking for you to stay for a couple of minutes. It's so lonely, my dad just died and I haven't talked to anyone yet since..." He did a pitiful trailoff. Made Theon rethink his situation, maybe even felt a little guilty for judging him by his appearance. He apologized, and offered his condolences, although he wasn't sure he truly cared. Ramsay seemed to be so dramatic a guy though, it made Theon wonder if he was using this death as a stepping stone to talk to people. Creepy loser. Theon couldn't help the thought break into his head. Ramsay went off about his dead old man and how he found him on the exact sofa right in front of them. Heart attack. Was that a hint of enthusiasm he heard in his voice? Felt like the creepy fuck was picturing it all over again. 

"Anyways, when I finally sent him off it was like a piece of me was gone with him. So many unanswered questions, so many conversations we never had..." This made Theon think of his own father. Conversations he wished he could have with him. Balon wasn't dead, but he might have seemed just as distant and indifferent of Theon. Perhaps it was the other way around. Was Theon dead to his father? Because Maron and Rodrik were more alive to Balon at least. He made a mental note to never have his brain bring it up again.  
"Yeah. That's really sad man, I can't remember the last time I talked to my old man." Ramsay listened to him intently, though Theon wasn't about to disclose any more. So he pursued. "Drifted apart? Too many fights?" Theon did not enjoy the man's insistence. Maybe because he just wasn't in a sharing mood, or maybe he sort of wanted to leave soon. Theon wasn't exactly a heart-to-heart guy. "Something like that." So he dismissed it. 

"I get the impression you don't enjoy my company at all. That's really rude don't you think?" With social etiquette etched into his subconscious, Theon did not want to be considered as 'that asshole over there'. Even if it was with this weirdo. Sure, he felt he could be more brash, but he also felt some alarm ringing in the back of his head. 

Before he knew it, he sensed a raised arm attacking at him with a gods-know-from-where beer bottle. All went black for a minute. Or maybe two. Theon felt being dragged down some kind of staircase, but he was still too numb to stop it. He was let down with an inglorious thump. Theon's vision soon came back, but as he tried turning his head about, the concussion forced him back down, leaving him groaning in discomfort. If he did not leave out of here now he probably never will. Was it already too late? He watched the ceiling as he tried getting up. Is this what it feels like to lose hope?  
Oh mercy, the serial killer was now standing on his sights, orange brightness illuminating his form, like some sort of dark Saint. Maybe it was a joke? But one look into Ramsay's face of gladness extinguished all of Theon's composure. "S...top what you're doing. Let me leave you asshole!" Ramsay's smile twitched up more.

"I don't think I will," he was now cutting some sort of rope with a rusty looking knife and wrapping it around Theon's wrists, held up, effectively binding him. "Do you know how long I've had to wait for Halloween? It's so rare that screams are normalised. And you've been such a rude guest too. 'Asshole'? Maybe you even deserve this." He stated nonchalantly, while holding up a massive saw. Though his fat lips were smiling with deprived desires. 

"Let's play a game!" Ramsay delighted as the fear fully sank into Theon's eyes.  
The captive could now move, being snapped out of the temporary haze, and so he trashed about as Ramsay laughed at the futile attempts while holding his legs down. "Please I'm sorry! Just let me go, I swear to you, I'll never come back to get you in trouble!" He couldn't help the desperation that seeped into his voice. Ramsay's eyes only darkened with glee. He let go to grab the offending weapon. 

"Let's play a game, are you even listening?" He scraped the saw's cutting edge along another metal horror, looking like a pair of large pliers. Theon cringed at the sound, tried to twist away. Ramsay scratched them against each other once more. "Well?"  
"Yes! Yes I'll listen! Just please don't cut me with that!" Ramsay sighed. He put the tools down on a bench, and knelt down on a level just above Theon's. "Did I ever give you the impression that I care, about anything you want? Do you think I'll listen to you? Well beg prettier and I might consider it. But first we play a game. You tell me which body part you need the least, and I'll cut the parallel." 

The poor boy was frozen, unable to accept the situation he was in. Ramsay sighed again impatiently. "If you're not going to answer, I will start with this." The soft hues of the bluntest knife Theon's ever seen, was pulled from the bench, and promised prolonged pain. 

"No please! I pick my big toe!" 

"Left, or right?" 

"...Right!" 

"Clever boy." 

With a swift motion, the man had grabbed onto Theon, and using the saw, sliced the left toe right off his foot. He did not even get to scream as Ramsay stuck his finger onto the fresh cut poking it. Theon wanted to faint. The stabbing sensation coursed through his nerves, sending useless warning signals to his brain. He made a gurgling sound, pre-bile drool about to rise to his throat. He was missing a toe! Technically a cripple...

Ramsay smiled at himself. This was going to be a good night; Theon seemed so easy to fool, and the little fool asked to stop the game. That he had his fun, to just let him go, let him go. That’s when Ramsay promised to cut no more toes, or fingers away, but requested just one last digit. Theon agreed, a new level of desperation was clear in his face. He took out a tiny saw, and slowly chiseled through Theon’s flesh. It was his pointer. Ramsay made sure to cut through the bone rather than the cartilage. The screams that erupted from his mouth rang through the room, and casually, Ramsay added in obvious delight; “You might think someone could come for you, hearing your cute little squealing, but worry not sweet thing, see the black, thick sponge all around the walls? Yes. It absorbs all of your enticing noises.” Theon sobbed. It made things stir, deep in Ramsay’s lap.

Theon could not control his motions from the pain anymore, and with a hard kick to his torturer’s thigh, Ramsay decided that the limb needed some restraint. And that is when the little saw turned his attention to the back of Theon’s foot, cutting through deep, nicking at the slice, peeling until the muscle came to view. His victim exhaled in little yells of despair. Ramsay had to look away for a moment. He was so alluring. His mouth screeched stop, but his whore marrow, and bones, and muscle, and skin, were asking for it. Fucking teasing him.

So he stripped him in the true sense, up to the calf. Theon had stopped screaming by now, his consciousness almost fading from the shock more than the bloodloss. Ramsay saw it. He could tell apart the escapists from the truly sincere ones. He let the saw on the floor and grabbed a bucket of ice cold water; splashed it all over the both of them. Ramsay needed to calm himself too, because at this rate he’d be out himself, from the euphoria. It proved effective, as he earned a beautiful gag from the toy below. “Plea- kill me. Just kill me! Kill me please...”

“What did I say about your begging? And no, I have decided that only i pick how you live, or die. You cannot influence that. You may be allowed some persuasion over how much pain you feel though.” He continued working on the foot, scratching at the edges, removing a decent sheet that would make an excellent phone case. He could see the white, pink and red tissue pulsing underneath, and it made him want to nuzzle all over it, stroke it and kiss it. He settled for licking it. The unfortunate thing cried out in agony. The blood tasted just fine.

That’s when Ramsay noticed shifting out of his sight. Theon was shuffling his shoulders and wrists, seemingly with Ramsay’s very own little saw. He could not see it on the ground anymore. So he grabbed onto the pliers and pretended to still be engrossed in the purple veins that danced for him pulsing, and glistened invitingly, more impressive than all the sluts in the world combined.

When the hand came for Ramsay, he gripped onto Theon’s wrist with his free hand and stabbed it with the sharp yet thick tool. The reaction from his throat accompanying the crunch was pure, primal. The rawest form of hurt. There was no thought and attitude, just pain in his shout. He had shattered some bone, Ramsay speculated. And the metal seemed to have ripped through the palm itself. Perfect. He could not hold on much longer anyways. So with tying Theon’s other hand on a pipe, he took the other and forced the twitching nervous thing on the bulge in his jeans. “What are you doing? Please don’t, please, don’t make me touch you, it hurts so much!” Ramsay did not care that the running blood stained his trousers.

“Touching me is a nice way to put it,” he said, exhaling breathily, unbuckling and unbutonning. “Don't worry pet, I will fuck your new tight hole very good.” It took a time for it to register, but when the knowledge did sink, Theon wailed. He screamed again for him to put him out of his misery first at least; have some decency. “There is nothing decent about you giving me the handjob of a lifetime. For that, thanks!” Theon would now cry for real, tears streaming across his face, mumbling incoherent gibberish. It annoyed him really. “If you don’t stay good and docile,” he pointed the pliers so close to Theon’s face, “I will pop out your eyes, and make very slow, sugary love to both your sockets, until all you see is my salt burning in your skull. You wouldn't like that much would you sweetie?” It stilled him at least, and though it looked like Theon made an effort to go limp, he did lose some control of his hand, now trembling in seizures.

Ramsay’s red hot prick pieced through the fluttering puncture, right between the metacarpal bones, slicked a darker shade of it with Theon’s blood. It went in slowly, he wanted to savour the tough muscles. “O-oh... You feel so good,” Theon whimpered, while stiffling another scream. He was still so, so terrified and partly frozen. “You were meant to suffer, be used.” the pain was excruciating as Ramsay impaled Theon's palm continuously, going from slow to fast, and changing the pace again. Sometimes he would rub through an especially thick nerve ending or two, and Theon would sob and scream harder, no filters, no point in pretending. No trying to tough it up. When the fingers unintentionally clenched up, grinding on Ramsay’s cock, Ramsay moaned obscenely, and it nearly sent him over the edge. “Your whore hand is so tight, did you know?” Ramsay started laughing. “Of course you do. You’re the whore who owned it. Now it’s mine, and so are you.” Theon was unable to reply, he was too focused on trying to mentally leave, only to no avail, so he screamed hoarsely instead. The captor was too violent and sudden for any form of escape. His precum was leaking all over now.

“Say something sweet, say it or i will cut out your pretty guts and fuck your intestines next.” The pacing of the penetration was not slowing down, but not speeding either. But his voice was hitched and it was clear he was going to be close. Theon was so desperate for it to end, even though he rationally understood anything Ramsay promised or did not, could be done to him regardless. What was considered as 'cute' to this monster was not a certain say. “Yes, I-I, I’m worthless, I should be used by you, I deserve it.” He could not even wince as he said the words. He just. Despaired. 

Ramsay came groaning, shuddering while remaining sheathed in Theon’s hand, making him feel the pulsing, violating his broken bones and shredded flesh. Theon could not be sure, but he might have pissed himself. He didn’t have the energy to think of that.  
The cock was pulled out, and the cold pierced Theon’s overheated wound, still bleeding freely. He wondered if he’d go to the hells, or maybe he could be in a state of limbo, like Jack. Perhaps he could spare him a few lanterns out of his pity. Surely he didn’t need that many. Just a couple of stupid pumpkins. 

“Shit. I forgot the pork for the stew. You wouldn’t know if there’s a functioning butcher’s at 1:00AM, right?" His smile now was the one that could and would make the devil his bitch. "Well it’s okay, you could make up for not knowing. You would make! Make do for the stew. Father should be coming soon, and it was a long flight so you should be happy you gave yourself for a nice cause. In fact, you aren’t even worth as an entrée, so you should be thanking me for making you the centre of the table.” Theon passed out before the massive blade sawed the leg right off him.

He woke up in a dream he thought, he could not really see much except the thick clouds, maybe he was in one of the hells, or heavens. He did sense a warm light. He might have smelled something tasty, but then again maybe not. Everything was a haze, his consciousness was floating softly back and forth. But then he saw it. A pot of steaming orange, and chunks of meat. Delicious looking. But something said it was dangerous. Did it matter? Probably not. Something else told him Jack might be waiting somewhere, so he’d better not linger. But what about the seas? Never mind that.

Ramsay watched the life clear away from the waning iris, to the dulling pupils. Soul languishing. He sipped from a crystal bearing a metallic red. Some of it was spilling from his lips, creating streams of ruby death. A certain alien longing coursed through his spirit as Ramsay observed, though a longing he could not make reason for. The sight was prettier than every Autumn sunset he had lived however. The gentle blaze of the intimacy was near to being unjust. But he knew better. When Roose came back, he made no comment on anything, though a strange glint in his usually humourless stark orbs appeared, when the dinner entered his mouth. Still he said nothing but the usual talk. He left the next week. 

Soon after, there was a handsome face on the street poles. Though no-one knew the man, who could ever bother to care.

There was only one who dared pay attention, the man whom every time passes a poster smiles so sweet, almost dreamy. You'd almost think the fuck got proposed to, but a second glance might suggest not. 

As far as Hallow's Eve goes, this had been an engrossing one indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> My headcanon is that at some point, Satan's gathered his demon buds around the campfire on Halloween night and terrorised them with tales of us. Never mind ghost stories...
> 
> Further Note: This is clearly a humble ode to Quarkitty, who is one of my favourite thramsay writers of all time.


End file.
